Hiding in Plain Sight
by barbaricyawp
Summary: Emily Clements joins S.H.I.E.L.D. in hopes of a normal life. Obviously her hope is in vain, especially once the Avengers start digging into her past and she starts spending too much time with the man out of time...
1. Meet Emily

_This building smells like donuts. _

She inhaled deeply. "It smells good."

"Yes, and just look at the view!" The agent said enthusiastically, gesturing at the window.

_Birds! I see birds!_

She shook her head to dispel the odd thoughts, and scratched vigorously behind one ear. "Utilities are included?"

"Yes, and free cable," the agent replied.

She frowned thoughtfully, mentally running through her finances. New job, new city… "I'll take it," she said firmly.

"Excellent!" said the agent, and whipped a lease out of the folder she carried. "Now, if you adopt a dog or cat, there is a seventy-five dollar pet fee payable each month with the rent."

"That's fine. I'm allergic to most animals anyway." She signed the lease, and smiled.

_That was easy. _

"Top floor," she grumbled, climbing the stairs. "Why must I live on the top floor?" She stopped on the third floor to remove her heels, and made the rest of the climb barefoot.

At the top of the stairs, she rummaged in her purse for her keys. The swinging, shining shapes were fascinating. She shook them several times, admiring the movement and sound. They were fascinating.

_Enough of that._ She shook her head firmly, and unlocked the door.

A pigeon was on the windowsill. "Shoo," she told it, going into the tiny kitchen space. It didn't move, but it probably couldn't hear her; it was outside.

"Go away!" She rapped on the window. The pigeon stayed put.

She puttered around the apartment, unpacking a few boxes and eating bread. "I should go to the grocery store," she said aloud. "I'm out of cheese."

There was a knock on the door. Cramming the rest of the bread in her mouth, she went to answer it. The pigeon fluttered away.

It was a tall, friendly-looking African American guy. "Hey. Your air on?"

"I hadn't noticed one way or the other," she said around her mouthful of bread. Dammit, he was cute, too. Why are you eating bread, Em? Get it together.

"Well, ours it out. We think the power's been cut off," he said bitterly. "Terrible wiring in this building, plus we've got mice."

"Thanks for the heads up," she said, swallowing the lump of dough that had accumulated in her mouth and immediately regretting it. She stuck out her hand. "I'm Emily Clements."

"Sam Wilson," he replied. His handshake was firm. "You're new here."

"Yeah. I just moved in on Saturday."

"Are you new to D.C., too?"

"I just got a new job," she said vaguely. "So—yes."

"Where do you work?"

"A top-secret government agency," she said seriously.

Sam laughed. "Yeah, me too. Hey, if you're not busy tonight, you should come over for a beer. We like meeting new people."

"Who's 'we'?" she asked curiously.

"Me and my roommate, Steve. We're friendly and bored."

Emily laughed. "Excellent qualifiers."

"I thought so," Sam said. "I'll see you around."

"I guess so," she said, and shut the door.

She turned back to her apartment, which was growing warmer by the minute. "Dammit!" she exclaimed to the empty space. "Now I can't buy cheese!"


	2. First Day of Work

"Coffee, Mr. Fury?" Emily poked her head into her boss's office nervously.

"Black, no sugar," he replied.

"Don't need to remind me, sir. I have your preferences on file," Emily said, and went click-clacking away to the break room. She hated wearing heels to work every day.

The coffee pot was ancient and slow. "You'd think an international defense agency would be able to afford a Keurig," she grumbled as it slowly heated.

"Tell me about it."

She turned her head—and smiled. "Oh, hey, neighbor!"

"What's up? Didn't know you worked here," Sam said.

"Didn't know you worked here," she retorted.

"Yeah, well, they like to keep things confidential, y'know?"

"I do," she said. "Hey, what if our entire building works here?" she joked.

"It makes sense. That way they can keep an eye on all of us." Emily's smile slipped away when she realized that Sam wasn't joking.

"So I guess I'll see you in the briefing room in ten minutes?" she asked.

"You will," he affirmed. "I'll introduce you to everybody."

"There's no need," she said hastily. "I'm just an intern."

"Intern at the most secretive agency in the world? How'd you swing that?"

"I had some, ah, connections that I tapped into," she said.

"You get paid?"

"All the background checks I went through? I'd better get paid," she quipped.

Sam laughed. "I just came in for a new pen," he said. "Steve snapped mine on accident."

"Roommate Steve?"

"Roommate Steve," Sam echoed. "Yeah. He's the one who got me my job here."

"That was nice of him," Emily commented, taking the finally-brewed pot out of its slot and pouring black coffee into Fury's mug.

Sam chuckled. "That remains to be seen." He left the room twirling his new pen, leaving Emily to decipher his cryptic statement.

Maria Hill was awaiting Emily when she returned to her desk. "I was about to walk in unannounced," she said sourly.

"Sorry, Ms.—ah, Agent—Hill. I was getting Director Fury's coffee," Emily apologized, holding the door open for Fury's right hand. "Mr. Fury, Agent Hill to see you."

"I see that, Ms. Clements." Only two days, and Emily already knew that Fury always sounded angry. "Stay, please. I'd like you to take notes."

"Take notes? That anyone can find?" Hill demanded.

"Relax, Agent," Fury said as Emily scrambled for pad and pen. "Everything I'm about to tell you is strictly aboveboard, for once. No need to write that down," he added to Emily.

"No, sir."

"Did you get my memo, sir?" Agent Hill asked.

"I did," Fury confirmed, "and I contacted Stark. The rest are on their way, with the possible exception of Thor. We don't have a surefire way of contacting him, unfortunately."

"Shall I put it to Dr. Foster, sir?"

"No, better Selvig. That's more his area than hers."

"I thought they were research partners."

"They are. But Dr. Foster has…other things on her mind at the moment."

"As you say, sir."

"Anything else, Agent?"

"No sir. Briefing starts in two minutes. Better get in there."

"As you say, Agent," Fury imitated her, rising to his feet. "Ms. Clements, you will of course accompany me to this meeting and take the minutes on your tablet."

"Of course, sir," Emily said. She followed Fury and Hill out of the room and grabbed the expensive technology from where it sat casually on her desk.

She was last to the conference room, but a chair had been reserved for her behind Director Fury. She slid into it as inconspicuously as possible and attached her portable keyboard.

She recognized most of the people in the room from the last several days. Sam stood in a corner, next to a tall, _very_ muscular man Emily didn't know. Sam spotted her and waved, then nudged the man beside him and pointed. Emily felt her face warm as his intense blue gaze swept quickly over her, appraising but not rude. When they finally made eye contact, he nodded respectfully at her. Blushing in earnest now, Emily looked down at her keyboard.

"Who are we waiting on?" Fury demanded.

"Just got off the phone with Stark," Sam's companion said. "He and Dr. Banner are only two blocks away, although I don't see how—"

A loud crash echoed through the room. "What the hell?" Fury started, but Iron Man walked through the door, sans helmet, before he could finish. "Dammit, Stark, we just got that window repaired from the last meeting! And where is Dr. Banner?"

"Right here, sir," said a faint voice. Emily gasped as Dr. Bruce Banner poked his head into the room, looking slightly airsick.

"I told you, Director Fury," Tony Stark said, "that you should put in a landing pad on this floor for my convenience."

"Yours and no one else's," put in Sam's friend. Emily smirked into her keyboard.

"Get the hell in here, gentlemen, so we can get this meeting started," Fury snapped.

Dr. Banner closed the door politely behind him. Sam caught a glimpse of the awe on Emily's face and grinned, nudging Steve. The captain saw how star-struck she looked and smiled, too.

"What, being neighbors with the Falcon and Captain America doesn't faze her, but the Incredible Hulk does?"

"I don't think she knows we are who we are, man," Sam whispered. "I was reading her file yesterday—"

"Did you hack my computer again?"

"Dude, your password for everything is 'Bucky.' Not hard to figure out. Anyway, it says she's got a degree in physics, among other things, so I'm sure she's familiar with his work."

"More familiar with obscure radiation research than the heroes who saved New York _and_ D.C."

"Since when does notoriety matter to you?"

"I don't know," Steve said, glancing again at Emily's pink face. "Since now, I guess."

Sam clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll introduce you after the meeting."

Stark and Banner had been talking throughout this exchange, explaining to the room at large how the alien transportation technology seemed to work—keyword _seemed_. Emily frowned as she typed furiously, trying desperately to keep up.

"So the rest could be upon us at any moment?" Fury clarified.

"We don't know if there is a 'rest,'" Stark replied. "But yes, we should be on the alert."

"Three agents were killed in neutralizing the ship that landed in Nebraska," Agent Hill put in. "I think it's safe to assume that this alien life is hostile. Again."

"Again," Emily mouthed, typing it into the notes.

"Right." Director Fury stood. "I want every agent in this room working on counteracting technology like that described by Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner, and I want the Avengers in my office as soon as is physically possible—preferably sooner."

He swept dramatically out of the room, trench coat billowing.

"Why does he wear that indoors?" Emily wondered aloud. Then the light dawned. "Shit, should I follow him?"

"I would," Agent Hill advised. "I am."

"Okay." Emily hurried out of the room after the self-assured agent, clutching her tablet to her chest like a lost puppy. Hill entered Fury's office without knocking, and Emily followed.

"Clements, chairs," Fury said without looking at her.

Emily set her tablet tentatively on his desk and hastened to do as he asked. "How many, sir?"

"Nine."

She hardly had them arranged in a circle when they arrived: the Avengers, sans Thor, since communication to Asgard had thus far proven unreliable. Fury and Hill took their seats, followed by Stark, Banner, a redheaded woman, Sam's friend, another man she didn't recognize, and—

"You're an Avenger?" she asked Sam stupidly, and quickly clapped a hand to her mouth. "I'm probably not supposed to talk right now, am I."

"I'll allow it," Fury said drily. "Clements, were you unaware that your apartment is next door to that of the Falcon and Captain America?"

"Captain America?" Emily squeaked. She glanced at Sam's attractive friend. "You're Steve Rogers," she said dumbly.

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," he said, reaching out to shake her hand. After taking a moment to process, Emily shook it.

"Sorry," she apologized to the room at large. "I feel like such an idiot."

"You should," was Agent Hill's unsympathetic judgment.

"You shouldn't," Tony Stark corrected her. He was still in the suit, which struck Emily as funny for some reason. "I think it's charming."

Emily wrinkled her nose. Sam and Steve (_Steve Rogers—Christ, I'm an idiot_) took their seats. One chair remained empty.

"Aren't you going to take your seat, Clements?" Fury asked patiently.

Emily managed to bite back her questions (_I'm important enough to sit in a circle with the Avengers?_) and slid into a seat next to Sam, her face bright red. He patted her on the shoulder—whether the gesture was patronizing or reassuring was difficult to discern. Steve sat on Sam's other side, and kept glancing at Emily sidelong.

Natasha Romanoff noticed, and bent her head to hide her smile.

"I have assembled this group under the assumption that the recent alien activity will prove to be hostile," Fury said bluntly. "Do we agree that this is a fair assumption?"

Emily had started typing, but she spared a moment to glance up and note who nodded: everyone. _All in agreement,_ she typed. There was a fly buzzing nearby. She tried to ignore it.

"The big question is: is this Loki again?" Black Widow put in.

"We have no way of knowing that without Thor or Loki himself present," Stark said.

"I thought Loki had died?" Banner asked.

Without warning, Emily made a sharp grabbing motion at the apparently empty air in front of her. Everyone stared, and she flushed bright red.

"That's the official story," Stark said. "Personally, I don't buy it. A son of a bitch that sneaky doesn't just _die._ Jeez, haven't any of you read Sherlock Holmes?"

Only Emily nodded, though she was busy wiping something off her hand with a tissue. Tony snapped his fingers and pointed directly at her. "This one. I like her. You can keep her, Nick."

"Isn't that a relief to hear." Fury's voice dripped sarcasm. Steve chuckled.

The meeting was brief, since very little actual information was available. Emily hovered in a corner until the Avengers had left, then scrambled to put Fury's chairs away and make her escape. She'd suffered enough embarrassment for one day.

"Have those minutes transcribed for me by the end of the day, Clements," was Fury's parting remark. "I will need nothing else from you today."

"Thank you, sir," Emily whispered, and fled to her desk—which wasn't fleeing at all, because she had a guest.

"Nice name card," Tony Stark remarked, holding up the index card onto which Emily had written her name in block letters two days prior.

"Agent Hill said my placard's still in the shop," Emily retorted, snatching the card from him and retreating behind her desk. "Can I help you with something, Mr. Stark?"

"Not really, no." He picked up her paper weight and tossed it from hand to hand. The sound of metal on metal made Emily wince.

"Well, then I mean no disrespect, but I have a lot of work to do."

"Let me ask you something," Tony said. "Have you ever had shwarma?"

"What the hell is shwarma?"

"An excellent question. Want to find out?"

Emily frowned at him. "Are you asking me out? I was under the impression that you and Ms., um, Potts were pretty serious."

Tony held up his hands in a defensive gesture. "Am I not allowed to welcome our newest agent to this fair city?"

"I'm not an agent, I'm an intern," Emily corrected him.

"I wasn't aware that the agency had interns."

"They do," she replied firmly.

Stark examined her expression closely and frowned. "You're lying."

"I work for a spy agency, Mr. Stark. Every piece of information that passes through this building is a lie in some form or another."

"Very astute," Stark complimented her. Emily sat down and booted up her computer.

"What's in here?" His hand moved toward the crumpled tissue she had used during the meeting. He was surprised when the girl's hand closed over his like a steel trap—and his hands were literally made of steel.

"You seriously want the stuff that came out of my nose?" She tried to save the moment.

"It didn't come out of your nose; you snatched it out of thin air," he corrected her. "What is it?"

She pursed her lips and turned back to her computer. "Sorry, sorry—I'll leave you alone. I see that I've annoyed you. I was just wondering why Nick's brand-new secretary was allowed to sit in on a meeting of the Avengers—and how she managed to snatch a fly out of midair."

He dropped the paperweight and strolled away, whistling to himself.

"You and me both, pal," Emily muttered.


	3. Undercover

"Come in," Emily called in response to the knock on her door.

Sam strolled in, followed closely by Steve. "Smells good in here," Steve remarked.

"Thanks." Emily appeared at the door to the kitchen, wiping floury hands on floury pants. "I was baking."

"I can see that," Steve said, pointing at the mess she was in. Emily looked down at herself and laughed. The sound brought a smile to Steve's face.

"What's going on, guys?" Emily asked. "Want some beers or something? Have a seat. Hungry?"

"Can I get a word in edgewise?" Sam demanded.

"Sorry."

"We came over to say hi. Meeting got a little crazy."

Emily flushed. "God, don't remind me. I felt like such a moron."

"Why?" Sam flopped casually onto her worn leather couch. Steve perched politely on one end.

"Why?" Emily laughed. "Because I live next door to the Falcon and Captain America and I didn't realize it. Because I didn't recognize Hawkeye on sight. Because Iron Man broke my paperweight, which is an important piece of my work station."

"That son of a bitch," Sam said. "And don't sweat not recognizing us."

"It's refreshing," Steve put in.

"A relief," Sam agreed. "Thankfully, whenever we're on the news we're masked and far away. Which is good, because if they got too close they'd see my beer gut." He slapped his flat abs loudly.

Emily laughed at him. "God forbid. Y'all want something to eat? Cobbler just came out."

"There's cobbler?" Sam leapt to his feet.

"Plates in that box right there," Emily pointed. "Sorry, it's still a bit of a mess."

"Not a mess," Steve reassured her. "It's…lovely."

Emily raised an eyebrow at him, and glanced meaningfully at the stacks of boxes around the tiny space. "It will be," Steve amended, cursing himself. _Get it together, Rogers. It's a girl—she's a girl. Not a…goddammit, Steve. _

Sam went into the kitchen to dish up plates for himself and Steve. He laughed aloud when he saw the spread of baked goods on the counter. "Damn, girl, you really went to town!"

"Sometimes I get squirrelly," Emily said defensively. She glanced out the window. Steve followed her gaze.

"Nice view," he commented.

"You sound like my real estate agent," Emily grumbled. "It's the back of an office building!"

"Well, it's a very…nice office building. The, um, architecture is really…"

"_Two _ cobblers?" Sam interrupted, God bless him.

"Peach and blueberry."

"Which one, Steve?"

"Is both an option?"

"Always," Emily said, and smiled at him.

They stayed until well after midnight. Emily had hooked up her TV just in time for March Madness, so they watched a few games and chatted, munching all the while on the cakes, cobblers, pies, cookies, and homemade doughnuts Emily had churned out that afternoon.

"I guess she bakes when she's stressed," was Steve's comment to Sam when they returned to their own apartment.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. She's cool, right?"

"If by cool, you mean…"

"Don't pretend not to understand my slang, Steve. I'm too tired for that crap."

"Sorry. Yes, she seems…cool."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, I know what you think of her. I'm going to bed."

"Good night," Steve called after his friend and roommate as he shuffled away. Sam waved in reply. Steve went in search of his laptop.

He pulled up his S.H.I.E.L.D. email account—he was already logged in, dammit Sam—and found the email from the previous week, containing the files of new employees. Emily Clements's was among them, and he clicked on in twelve times, which of course opened twelve copies.

"Dammit," Steve muttered, and managed to rid himself of eleven of them. Once this was accomplished, he settled himself to reading.

There wasn't much; mostly a list of educational institutes and degrees she'd obtained. B.S. and Master's in Physics, B.S. in Environmental Sciences and Biology, Master's in Zoology, another Master's in Marine Biology…Christ, the girl had been busy. He scrolled through the list and found her pre-college education: Ambler Elementary, Pickens Middle School, some place called the Xavier Institute…

That rang a bell. He figured out how to Google it and did so. The official website was a little too vague and generic for his liking: fronted by pictures of a pristine campus and smiling, ethnically diverse teenagers. After some more digging—websites were tricky, though Sam kept assuring him that contemporaries struggled too—he found a secure login link. After some deliberation, he entered his S.H.I.E.L.D. email information. It worked.

A list of names appeared on his screen, under the heading "Past and Present Students." He scrolled through the lengthy list—fortunately C was toward the beginning of the alphabet—and clicked on the link that read "Emily Clements, Undeclared."

"'Emily Rebecca Clements was born on October 3, 1987 in Pickens, South Carolina'…siblings, blah blah blah…" Steve droned through the biography. "Aha! 'Admitted to the Xavier Institute of Higher Learning in 2003 after obtaining her GED under…questionable circumstances by the standards of her hometown?' What the hell does that mean?"

The bottom of the page proved more interesting: a large picture of Emily perched atop a parked car, crouched in a pose that reminded him of a tiger more than anything else. Her lips were bared in a primal snarl…wait, were those fangs? He read the caption: 'Emily Clements, operating at full capacity; Atlanta, 2004.'" Immediately underneath was another paragraph, titled Specificities of Mutation.

"Mutation?" After a long string of genetic jargon—base pairs, chromosome numbers, and the like—was the really interesting bit: "'Clements, who has never chosen a code name for herself to public or private knowledge, is able to connect with the consciousness of any nonhuman organism in her immediate vicinity—often involuntarily, as her training at the Xavier Institute remains incomplete. Once connected with the animal, Clements can adapt whichever of its traits suit her needs (again, she does not have full control over these adaptations). She has been known to tap into several species at once, as is evidenced above: a gecko and a cat were in the pet store down the street. Note that the vehicle in the photograph is hanging off of a bridge.'"

Steve turned his head sideways to look. How hadn't he noticed it? Probably because her hair was short in that picture; it just looked like she was in a strong wind. He liked it longer, he decided, although she'd had it up in a bun that day.

"'Emily Clements dropped out of Xavier Institute in early 2005 for undisclosed reasons. Until 2010, she attended assorted universities across the country obtaining an impressive array of degrees. Beginning in mid-2009, Clements did freelance work for the agency once called Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage, Law-Enforcement Division, operating at a small office of S.H.I.E.L.D. in Atlanta until 2011. Since there, her location and activities are unknown.'"

Steve sat back, deep in thought. A mutant at S.H.I.E.L.D. He shouldn't be surprised, really; he and Banner were there on a regular basis, after all. But one of Dr. X's students…it seemed unusual to his admittedly limited knowledge.

Did Sam know? He scanned back through her S.H.I.E.L.D. file. No, there was no indication that there was anything unusual there…then again, any agent could access the necessary information if they tried hard enough. The question was, had any of them tried? Steve himself hadn't even read her file, albeit closely enough to notice the Xavier Institute credit hidden at the end of the file and capped by a lengthy description of her research papers.

Fury undoubtedly knew. Fury knew everything, Steve thought bitterly. If Fury knew, Agent Hill probably knew as well. But did anyone else?

He rubbed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. It was a question for another day—probably tomorrow. He shut his laptop decisively and went in search of sleep.


	4. Interference

Agent Hill poked her head into Fury's office. "Sir, may I speak with you?"

"If you must." Fury sat back in his chair as Hill came in, shutting the door behind her. "Is Clements out there?"

"No, sir. She's getting coffee. I've been waiting for her to leave so that I could speak to you without her knowledge."

"So you could speak to me about her," Fury clarified.

"Yes, sir. You brought her to D.C. to join the Avengers. Should that not be made clear to her? She's been here for several weeks."

"Absolutely not," Fury said. "Dr. Xavier has been quite firm on this point. She will resist coercion at all costs—and her tolerance for pain will be considerably higher than any human's if she's provoked enough. She can tap into anything, anywhere if she tries hard enough. I'd like to have her try under desirable circumstances."

"I understand, sir, but I don't like it," Agent Hill said bluntly.

"Some of the agency's brighter minds be aware of her past by now," Fury said. "The necessary information is included in her file. I didn't take much trouble to hide it, and Xavier has granted secure access to all agents for a few weeks. I'm hoping that persuasion by her peers, so to speak, will be more effective than a direct order. Especially once the shit really hits the fan."

"And the shit will hit the fan?"

"Undoubtedly."

"I thought that there was little evidence that this particular species was hostile."

"Agent, you were the one who brought up the deaths in the meeting," Fury snapped. "Do you believe them to be a threat or not?"

"I'm not sure, sir," Agent Hill said reluctantly. "I've been reviewing the video footage, and they almost seem more…defensive than offensive."

"They came here, Agent."

"There is always the possibility that that was a mistake, sir. All the more reason to recruit Clements, to my mind: we can avoid unnecessary bloodshed if she can communicate with them somehow."

"There's always that possibility," Fury admitted. "I admire your defensive instincts, Hill. Lord knows this agency could stand to avoid bloodshed. It's good for our public image."

"And our liability checks."

Fury chuckled. "True. Dismissed, Agent. Thank you for speaking to me."

Hill nodded respectfully, and left. Emily poked in her head in less than a minute later.

"Sir, I'm sorry to have missed Agent Hill—is there anything you need me to denote or…?"

"No, Agent," Fury said firmly.

"With all due respect," Emily said with equal firmness, "I'm an intern, not one of your agents."

"For now," Fury muttered as she shut the door. Emily pretended that she hadn't heard him.

Steve encountered Emily in the hallway a few hours later. He was doing his best to treat her normally, but this was proving incredibly difficult. She was an undercover mutant, more or less, and he needed to respect that—but she unnerved him for other reasons, too.

He started when she came around the corner, deeply absorbed in a stack of paperwork. "Ma'am," he said nervously, stepping aside to let her pass.

She looked up and smiled at him. "You don't have to call me ma'am, Steve."

"Sorry, ma'am—sorry. It's just how I was raised."

"Me, too," she assured him. "Courtesy is a big deal where I come from. It's just…we're the same age, aren't we? Ma'am makes it sound like I'm older, or more important than you. And we both know that's not the case."

"If you say so," Steve conceded politely.

Emily sighed heavily. "I wish you weren't so formal with me," she said softly, and her dark eyes echoed her sentiment. "I'd like us to be friends, at the very least." Her face turned a very soft pink as soon as the words left her mouth.

_At the very least?_ Steve wanted desperately for her to clarify what exactly that meant. His own face felt warm, as well. What was it about this girl? She was nothing like Peggy; nothing. Well, except for those big dark eyes. But Peggy's were strong and direct, where Emily's eyes tended toward kindness or aversion. He wished he knew why.

"I, um. What are you—busy weekend?"

She shook her head. "Not so much. I don't really know anybody around here yet."

"Well, I, ah—Sam's been saying that—you should come."

Emily laughed at his fumbling, but it wasn't an unkind laugh. Steve's face grew even warmer, and warmth blossomed in his chest, too. There was something about her laugh… "Whatever it is, I'd love to. Just let me know when."

"I promise I'm usually more, ah, articulate," Steve said, turning a bright red.

Emily waved this away with a hand, almost dropping her papers in the process. "Don't sweat it, Captain. We're all a little socially awkward. Besides," she finished as she headed down the hall, throwing a bright, but shy, smile over her shoulder, "it's cute."

"Cute," Steve whispered after she'd left. He frowned. "That must mean something else these days," he decided. "Puppies and babies are cute, not…"

"Fully grown super-soldiers?"

Steve turned to see Natasha watching him. "How long have you been standing there?" he demanded.

"Long enough." She approached him, a knowing smirk on her face. "She thinks you're cute."

"And that's….good."

"Very—as long as you think she's cute, too."

"Sam says she's 'cool.' Does cute mean something similar?"

Nat rolled her eyes. "You think she's pretty, don't you?"

"Um."

"You have no idea how to talk to women, do you." Steve remembered Peggy saying the same thing, and a felt a pang in his chest.

"I can talk to women," he said defensively. "Just not…in that context."

"Stark told me about your girl," Nat said. "Way back when. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about except a lost opportunity," Steve said bitterly.

"Well, how'd you do it then?"

Steve shook his head. "I don't know. There was so much else going on…there wasn't really time to be nervous."

Nat nodded. "I get that. Try to relax, Captain," she said, a hint of mockery in her voice. "She said you were cute. That's a start."

With that, she walked away.

"It's a start, but it's not very helpful," Steve said to the empty hallway.


	5. Night on the Town

Sam knocked on Emily's door after work on Friday. She opened it almost immediately, running a comb through her damp hair.

"We're going out," Sam announced.

"Where to?" Emily wanted to know, stepping back to allow him entrance.

"I've been meaning to take Cap out clubbing," Sam explained.

"Clubbing?" Emily was alarmed. "Are you sure he's ready for that?"

Sam shrugged. "Is anyone ever really ready for clubbing?" He grabbed a handful of cookies from Emily's kitchen. "How much time you want to get ready?"

Emily considered. "Fifteen minutes. I need to dry my hair and put on my face."

Sam chuckled at her way of phrasing it. "Come over whenever you're ready. By the way, I've invited a few…acquaintances of mine."

"Female acquaintances?"

"Yes," Sam admitted.

Emily cracked a smile. "Are you trying to set the good Captain up with one of them? Because I'm sure I could be helpful on that front."

"More helpful than you realize," Sam remarked drily, walking past her again and exiting the apartment. "See you in ten."

"Fifteen," she called after him as the door closed. "Shit," she declared, and darted back into her bedroom. Most of her clothes were still packed away.

She finally found a dress that she felt was appropriate for the occasion. Most of her dresses were fairly old-fashioned, which Steve might appreciate, but Steve was not D.C. nightlife. The dress she shimmied into was made of lace, but it hit her leg at mid-thigh and clung desperately to her every curve. The adjective "desperate" was appropriate; Emily did not consider herself well-endowed. The dress was a soft maroon that brought out reddish tones in her hair, and she had a shade of lipstick that matched it exactly.

Drying her hair took the longest; why had she grown it out, again? Since she was wearing lipstick, she went easy on the mascara and eye shadow. She slipped a silver watch onto her left wrist and found her rings in the mess by the sink.

She remembered to turn out the lights when she left.

Steve was growing decidedly uncomfortable. Sam had invited two girls over; his "special lady," as he called Hanna, and her roommate. Zoe kept stealing sidelong glances at Steve under her eyelashes. Steve hoped they could leave soon.

Emily walked in without knocking, tucking her key into her purse. "Y'all ready?"

Heat rose to Steve's face as he looked her up and down admiringly. That color of red was stunning on her, and her heels were nowhere near as high as Hanna's or Zoe's. Steve liked this better; the other two girls looked like they could hardly walk. He tried not to think about the body underneath the dress and shoes—it seemed impolite.

Emily picked a hair off her dress (_damn cat_), then looked up and met his gaze. Its intensity made her flush bright red. God, his eyes were so _blue._ Not a pure sky blue, but…like a cloudy day. There was so much going on under the surface. He was pulling her in against her will.

"I'm Hanna," one of Sam's girls introduced herself. Emily welcomed the unsolicited hug as a distraction. "Nice to meet you!"

"And I'm Zoe," the other said; her voice was soft and languid, like syrup. "You look hot."

"Thanks," Emily said. "I love your earrings!"

"I made them," Zoe said proudly.

"No shit!"

"Is this…normal behavior?" Steve murmured to Sam as the three women traded compliments rapid-fire.

Sam nodded. "It'll be over soon, and then we can go. I called a taxi; none of us need to be driving tonight."

"You know alcohol has no effect on me," Steve reminded his roommate.

Sam smiled smugly. "Depends on how _much_ alcohol."

_Hours later_

Steve didn't know where to look, so he focused intently on his drink. The mass of people on the floor were dancing by modern standards, but it seemed deeply indecent. They were standing so close together! Women in front of men, hips tucked into pelvises, gyrating back and forth. To Steve it looked like an orgy—not that he really had any personal experience with orgies, officially.

Emily sought him out, tottering slightly. "Why aren't you dancing?" she shouted in his ear. That was another thing; must the music be so _loud_?

"This isn't dancing," Steve yelled back. "Besides, I don't know how."

"How to dance, or how to…grind?" she retorted.

"Is that what this is called? Grinding?"

"Yeah. If we're lucky, they'll change the song and people will start actually dancing, but it still won't be what you're used to—unfortunately."

"Why unfortunately?"

"Don't you like swing dancing? I do."

He turned his head to look at her straight on. "You know how to swing dance?"

She shrugged and nodded. "It's a popular pastime where I come from."

"And where's that?" He already knew the answer, thanks to Fury, but he'd do anything to keep her talking.

"Pickens County, South Carolina," she said proudly. "Home of the Clemson Tigers!" He couldn't help but laugh at her zeal.

The song changed, to Steve's relief: rather than intense electronic sounds, there seemed to be an actual singer—although she was singing about brushing her teeth with jack.

"I love this song!" Emily exclaimed. She leaned closer to him again, and he caught a whiff of her perfume: something flowery and sweet that he wished he knew the name of. "Do you wanna dance?"

"Define 'dance,'" Steve said seriously. Emily chuckled.

"Do you wanna go somewhere else instead? Somewhere quieter?"

"That would be fantastic," he said fervently.

"Let's go then." She grabbed her purse in one hand and his elbow in the other. "Stay close to me," she said.

Steve was hardly going to argue with that. She wove through the crowd with expertise born of practice, keeping a firm grip on his arm.

_Try to relax,_ Natasha's words echoed in his head. Without thinking, Steve slid his hand down her arm and entwined his fingers with hers, for extra security. At least, that was his excuse.

Emily smiled when she felt his hand in hers. His hands were large and strong, unsurprisingly, and hers fit into his grip with ease. His touch sent warmth reverberating through her body; she was glad that it was both hot and dark, so no one would suspect that she was blushing.

They burst out onto the street and trotted away from the noise, still holding hands. "Where do you wanna go?" Emily asked him, slowing down finally.

Steve shrugged. "What do you suggest?"

"I'm new to this city too, remember?" She laughed aloud, so of course Steve laughed, too.

"Your laugh is infectious," he told her. Hopefully she'd realize it was intended as a compliment.

She did, and smiled warmly at him. She hadn't let go of his hand, although they were well clear of the crowd. Since she wasn't letting go, he didn't either.

Somehow they ended up on the Mall, which was crowded despite it being late at night. Emily halted in the dead center and looked in both directions: toward the Capitol, then toward the Washington Monument.

"People say the monuments are beautiful at night," she said. "What do you think?"

Steve glanced sidelong at her rapt face. "They're all right," he said.

She looked at him regretfully. "This was a terrible idea," she said.

"No it wasn't," Steve protested.

"Yeah, it was. I didn't think you'd think much of our modern clubs, but I went along anyway."

"I'm still having a…a nice time," he assured her.

Emily snorted. "That's very nice to say, but we still screwed up. We'll make it up to you."

"You don't owe me anything," he insisted.

"Sure we do. We're your friends, and you're in a tight spot," Emily said. "It's our job to help you get through all this mess and…I dunno. Be happy here."

"Tonight was fine," he insisted. "I liked seeing you with your hair down."

"Literally," she retorted drily. Suddenly she swayed in place. "Ooh. I think I had a little too much to drink."

"Why don't we sit down." Steve guided her to the steps of the Smithsonian and joined her on the cool pavement. A slight breeze brushed at their faces; Emily's hair drifted into his face, and the sweet flower smell intensified. He inhaled deeply.

"Sorry." She brushed her hair back and tucked it neatly behind her ears. She wrapped her arms around her knees and laced her fingers together, staring almost absently at the National Mall.

He noticed that she was shivering slightly, and cursed himself for not wearing a jacket. Sam had insisted that he wouldn't need it. Not knowing what else to do, Steve shyly reached over and wrapped his arm around her. "You look cold," he said by way of explanation.

"It's a little chilly," she admitted, and leaned gratefully into his warm bulk. Tucking her head under his chin was the most natural thing in the world. Again: she was glad for the darkness to hide her red face.

A mourning dove brushed against her awareness, curious. It had never met anyone like her before. Emily carefully opened herself up to it, sharing in the simple joy of flight. She pursed her lips and whistled; the eerie birdsong echoed up and down the Mall. Her new friend whistled back happily.

"That was…cool." Steve's voice brought her jerking back to reality.

_Shit. You know better than to do that just anywhere._ "I, um, went bird-watching a lot as a kid." It wasn't completely a lie.

"That's interesting." His arm tightened around her; he knew the truth about her, but knowing and witnessing were two different things. He wondered how many other animal sounds she could make. Probably any that suited her. It was an amazing thought.

She didn't know what he knew about her, but she was grateful for his acceptance.


	6. Control

Two days later, Emily woke up on the ceiling. "Goddammit," she said calmly but fervently. Her range had expanded to include most of their block, probably because of her little stunt with the dove. Tapping into it always made it stronger. With some difficulty, she reduced it to her room but remained attached to the ceiling.

She mentally probed into corners, ignoring for the moment the mice in the walls. There was a spider in the corner of her shower. She approached it courteously and asked that it leave the premises. The spider protested; this corner seemed ideal for his purposes. She projected images of herself in said shower, to prove that he should relocate. The spider decided to take her advice, and promptly disappeared through a crack in the grout.

Emily dropped abruptly from the ceiling and landed heavily on her bed, knocking all the air out of her lungs. She sat up, pushing tangled hair out of her face. She thought briefly of emailing Dr. X., but decided immediately against it.

The mice fled as she planted her feet firmly on the floor. They disliked how much cheese she was going through. It was unfair. She promised to leave them some if they promised to stop making her crave cheese all the damn time. The mice had to concede the justice of this.

Emily padded barefoot into the kitchen. A pigeon was outside, demanding bread—so she went in search of some. Standing insolently in front of the window, she dribbled crumbs into her mouth until the pigeon flapped grumpily away. She had been expecting more sympathy from Emily.

Her apartment was finally clear of other life forms, and so Emily could relax. She pranced around humming happily to herself. It was Memorial Day, so she was off work, and she could spend the whole day completely isolated if she so chose—and if she could keep her focus trained on her small refuge. She already knew that the apartment across the hall housed a cat, there was a snake and a lizard in 5D, and a dog on the first floor. Then there were those damn mice. She hated to ask them to vacate the building, but…

A knock on the door reverberated through her skull. She clapped her hands over her ears and demanded that whatever bats were in the attic leave—_now._ They protested. _You have until night, little brothers,_ she amended apologetically as she went to the door. _ I can't handle hearing as well as you all the time. You understand that. _

The bats understood, but she doubted that the superhero waiting at her door would be as sympathetic.

"I've been looking over your file," Tony Stark said conversationally, strolling into her apartment as if he owned it. "You never graduated from the Xavier Institute, which seems to me to be a damn shame."

"I _asked_ Fury to leave that out," Emily groused. "I figured some of y'all would be smart enough to figure it out. Coffee?"

"Please."

"So what do you plan to do with the information?" Emily asked as she poured him a cup. She, unlike S.H.I.E.L.D., had sprung for a Keurig.

"Absolutely nothing," Stark said calmly, accepting the kitten mug graciously from her. "I was going to offer my assistance, if you feel so inclined."

"I do not," Emily said coldly. "I came to D.C. to start a normal life."

"Why?"

"Why?" She looked at him disbelievingly. "Because when I was four I started barking at the mailman. Because in middle school there was a cardinal's nest outside my science classroom and I started screaming when the chicks got hungry. Because in high school…"

"Okay, I get it; you had a troubled childhood because of your fantastic abilities," Stark appeased her. "They are fantastic, by the way. You know that."

Emily merely grunted in response. Stark took an experimental sip of his coffee and smacked his lips appreciatively. "So living with your…abilities have proven to be an inconvenience for you. That's fine. So why not finish your training with Dr. X? Isn't that why his school exists in the first place?"

"Because," Emily said tightly. "I lost some things along the way."

"Don't be cryptic with me, sweetheart. It's charming, don't get me wrong, but I want straight answers out you. You could be an unbelievable asset to your new employers; you realize that."

"I am an asset," Emily said hotly. "I take good meeting minutes!"

Tony snorted. "I mean more than that and you know it. Why don't you embrace your abilities?"

"Because I've _killed_ people!" she burst out, throwing down her mug and shattering it. The ceramic shards scattered; she reached subconsciously for a cockroach and fortified her bare feet with its exoskeleton. "And not people who deserved it, either," she whispered. "Innocents. Civilians. Family. Friends." _Lovers. _God, how cliché.

"So why not learn to control yourself?" Tony looked at her unscathed feet and raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"At the Xavier Institute, I wasn't taught to control my powers the way I wanted to," she said. "I was taught how to fight with them. I didn't want to fight, but I went along because I thought I had no choice. After Atlanta…"

"Yes, what happened in Atlanta? I could only find the vaguest information, which was deeply irritating, let me tell you."

Emily said nothing. Stark raised an eyebrow at her again. "Stuff," she said simply. "Things."

"See? Already I'm learning things about you."

"What the hell do you mean?"

"'Stuff and things'? You watch _the Walking Dead,_" Stark said triumphantly.

"I am emotionally invested in the characters," Emily said gruffly. "What's your point?"

"You don't have to deal with this alone. Surely you've realized that by now?"

She shrugged noncommittally. "Alone protects me."

"So you're also a _Sherlock _fan. How do you feel about the film adaptations?"

"Dammit, Stark! Are you trying to have a serious conversation with me or not?"

"Can't we do both at once? Fine, you want to be incognito; I can respect that, although Lord knows I don't understand it." The corner of Emily's mouth twitched. "What I don't understand is why you refuse to let someone help you control your abilities. Surely that's for your own good?"

She shrugged again. "I see no reason why I can't do that alone."

"Well, how's it going for you so far?"

Emily said nothing.

"That's what I thought. I'm going to leave you my card," he said, taking one out of his breast pocket and offering it to her. When she made no move to take it, he left it on the counter. "That's my personal number. Jarvis will put you straight through to me. If you change your mind, I'll take the day off and we'll go to the zoo."

"The zoo," Emily said incredulously. Tony was already halfway out the door. Hand on the knob, he turned back to her and said:

"Why waste your abilities on spiders and cockroaches?"

With that, he left.

"I _like_ cockroaches," Emily protested to the empty apartment.

The cockroach in her wall was flattered by the sentiment—as much as a cockroach can be flattered by anything.


	7. Exposed

"How closely did you read Emily's file?" Steve casually asked Sam as they returned to the apartment after their morning run.

Sam shrugged. "Saw she was from South Carolina. She's got a helluva lot of degrees. Why?"

"No reason," Steve said innocently. "You want first shower?"

"Yes," Sam said fervently, and headed straight for the bathroom. Steve headed for the kitchen. Coffee had little actual effect on him, but the smell and routine was soothing.

The door to the apartment opened. "So I was just chatting with your neighbor," Tony Stark said conversationally, as if he hadn't just massively invaded Steve's privacy.

"Haven't you heard of knocking?" Steve demanded, torn between annoyance and amusement.

"Have you read her file?" Stark asked.

"Very thoroughly," Steve replied emphatically. If Stark had found the same information that he had, he'd understand the implications.

"I need you to help convince her to join the Avengers."

Steve looked straight at Stark. "You aren't serious."

"I am deathly serious, Captain."

"Did Fury put you up to this?"

"After a fashion," Stark replied. "He put the information well within my reach. He had to know that I'd make full use of it."

Steve had to admit that this was a fair point. Emily's background had been made readily available to them all; it just took a little digging.

"Why do you want her? Last I checked, you weren't much of a team player," Steve said.

"I can play nice when I need to—and in this case I really need to." Stark looked directly at Steve. "Have you looked much at the footage of these aliens we're dealing with?"

Steve shook his head.

"I have. I've watched it over and over, frame by frame. Usually when we deal with aliens we're hilariously outgunned. In this case, I think we might be…out-_evolved._"

"Explain."

"I'm not sure I can. These aliens are…some are canine, some are feline. Others appear amphibious or reptilian. All are hyper-intelligent and ridiculously strong for their body mass."

"How can that level of intelligence exist with an equal level of diversity?" Steve asked in alarm.

"They must come from a planet more bountiful than ours—which of course raises the question of what they stand to gain here. My point is, I won't be of much use against them, being made of metal and all. You and Banner might do better. But what we really need is someone like Emily."

"I think I understand," Steve said, frowning. "She can empathize with them on a level that we never could…"

"More than that. If it comes down to it, she can imitate their fighting style _precisely_—and improve on it vastly by tapping into whatever Earth has to offer. I tried to convince her to go to the zoo, but no dice."

"Did she tell you why she's in D.C.?"

"She said she wants a normal life."

"And you don't think we should respect that."

"Not at the moment, no. We _need_ her. The Avengers need her, Earth needs her."

_I need her._ Steve pushed the thought away; he'd hardly known her a month, for crying out loud.

Sam emerged from the bathroom, water dripping down his neck. "I thought I heard you, Stark. What's up?" They shook hands.

"Emily's a mutant and Stark wants her on our team," Steve said bluntly.

"A what? How long have you known?"

Steve didn't answer.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was need to know information," Steve said.

"And now you know!" Stark put in genially.

Sam glared at both of them. "I am not happy about this," he announced. "How did you find out?"

"It's all in the file," Stark said innocently.

"That's bull crap. I read that file."

"How thoroughly?"

"What?"

"Listed under her educational credits—which are substantial—is a passing reference to the Xavier Institute," Stark explained.

The light dawned on Sam's face. "I can't believe I missed that." He looked expectantly from one man to the other. "So, what can she do? Why's she need to be on our team?"

"She can, ah, tap into animal consciousness and take on their abilities for her own purposes," Steve explained as succinctly as he could.

"So what the hell does that mean?"

"Friday night she started doing bird calls, and the birds talked back."

"Where was this?" Stark asked curiously.

"We were on the National Mall," Steve said shortly.

"Just the two of you?"

"Yes," he admitted reluctantly.

"Dammit!" Tony exclaimed. "I owe Natasha twenty bucks."

"What?"

Sam started laughing.

"We've a running bet about when you two would….fondue? Isn't that what you call it?"

Steve's face was bright red. "It wasn't like that," he grumbled. "We were just…sitting."

"Sitting," Stark echoed. They both looked at him expectantly, and Steve realized he wasn't getting out of this unscathed.

"We got tired of the club, so we went outside for some air," he said.

"Well, that's boring," Tony complained. "However, it does mean that Natasha owes _me_ twenty bucks, rather than the reverse. Much better."

The door to the apartment opened again. Emily stormed in, apparently intending to rant about Tony, but she halted dead in her tracks when she saw the three of them clustered around the table.

"Shit," she said, and turned on her heel. Tony beat her to the door and held it shut.

"We need to talk, princess."

"_We_ don't need to talk about anything," she snapped. "Let me by, Stark."

"C'mon, Emily," Sam said reasonably. "Just sit down for a minute."

She whirled on them. "I will _not_ sit down. You don't know what you're asking! You don't realize what'll happen!"

"To who? You? We're more concerned about what might happen to humanity," Stark said callously.

Without warning, Emily turned and spat in his face. Stark yelled in astonishment and wiped his face with his shirt. "It burns!"

"Spitting cobra," she said shortly.

"How'd you get it that fast?" Sam asked in astonishment.

She sighed heavily. "I've been repressing it, but when I woke up this morning I was…fully charged, we'll say. Every animal in this city is currently in my head."

Steve looked at her in alarm. "That sounds crowded."

"You have no idea," she said darkly.

"She spat on me!" Tony exclaimed.

"You deserved it," she said coldly, and turned for the door again. Amazingly, Stark blocked her path again. "You really want to mess with me, Stark?"

"No," he retorted. "I want you to mess with them."

"I can't do that," she said.

"Can't, or won't?"

"Both."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, I suggest you closely examine your faith." She tried again for the door, but Stark wouldn't budge. She sighed heavily. "Don't forget you're asking for this," she said.

Tony Stark waited expectantly. Emily calmly lifted him several feet off the ground with one hand and tossed him aside. Stark crashed into the table and groaned. "Fire ant," she stated flatly.

"That hurt," he complained.

"Good," she said.

"Cut it out, Stark," Steve said, as the idiot got up and rushed her again. She whirled around and body-slammed him, knocking him out of the way. "Rhinoceros."

Stark tried to struggle to his feet, but she pinned him down with one foot. "African elephant. You are messing with the entire animal kingdom right now." She was eerily calm.

"Good," Stark said. "It's about time they started pulling their weight in protecting this planet."

Emily leaned into his face, opened her mouth, and _roared._ Sam covered his ears; Steve took several steps back. The sound was deep, guttural, primal…terrifying.

Stark was unfazed, or pretending to be so. "That's cute," he said. "Give me a chance to put on my suit and we'll see what you can really do."

"No," she said. She stepped back and allowed him to stand. "Leave me alone."

She stormed out of the apartment and slammed the door, which promptly cracked in half. "Shit!" she exclaimed from outside. "Sorry! Blame the rhino!"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Steve demanded of Tony, wrenching the broken door off its hinges and following Emily back to her own apartment.

"Emily," he started.

"Just leave me alone, Steve," she said. She wouldn't look at him. He strode to her, grabbed her shoulder, and _made_ her face him. Her eyes were full.

"It's okay," he told her.

"No, it's not," she said, and a tear spilled down her cheek. "Last time I…tapped into this, a lot of people died. People I cared about. Once I start, I can't stop it. I'll…lose control. Lose my humanity. Don't you get that?"

"No, I don't," Steve said. "I'm not a superhero; I'm just a lab rat." She managed a watery smile, and wiped her eyes furiously with one hand.

"I'll do whatever else Fury needs me to do for this case—mission, whatever you call it—but I can't do this. Not because of a principle or anything, but because I can't…lose myself. Not again."

"You won't lose yourself." Steve put his hand under her chin and made her look directly at him. Her cheeks were pink, and he was surprised to see her pupils dilate visibly. "I'll be with you, every step of the way. I won't lose you, so you don't have to worry about it."

"It doesn't work like that," she said sourly.

"Sure it does."

"No, Steve. It doesn't." Suddenly she hissed violently, her eyes wide in fear. She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth and flushed. "Sorry. A…a snake just died."

"And you felt that?"

She nodded. "That must be awful," Steve said softly. "To have that many voices in your head, and suddenly they aren't there anymore."

"I feel their pain," she whispered. "I can block it out most of the time, but not always."

He couldn't stand the pain on her face anymore. He pulled her into his broad chest and wrapped his arms tightly around her. He couldn't keep her safe from herself this way, but the protective gesture made him feel better.

She held herself stiff for a moment. It had been a while since she'd gotten a real hug. A shudder ran through her slender frame as a squirrel got hit by a car. Steve rubbed her back soothingly, and she gave in to the sensation of being comforted.

Emily relaxed into his embrace, setting her mind free. The creatures of the city called out to her, demanding her attention. She enveloped them all, as Charles had taught her. It was a relief, really. Her hands tingled with sensations: bark, cement, water, air rushing between her feathers—fingers. She focused on the feeling of the fabric of Steve's shirt, soft and pliant under her fingertips. She focused on the hard muscle beneath the shirt.

Amazingly, it worked: she could feel all the animals, but their voices were not so insistent in her head. She could call upon anything she needed at any moment, but she was lodged firmly in her own consciousness, her own body. The body, she remembered, was being held by Steve Rogers. As if a hug could really help things.

_Too practical, too animal,_ she told herself. It was a nice gesture. She managed to extricate her arms from where they were pinned against his chest and wrap them around his muscled waist. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and sighed.

"Better?" Steve murmured into her hair.

"Much better," she said fervently.


	8. Mission Prep

The Avengers sat around a table, staring at the massive screen on the wall as Director Fury briefed them on what was known about their new enemy.

"Ships touched down in Atlanta this morning. The city was placed on lockdown by the invaders; military forces have been trying to enter to no avail."

"So how do you propose that we get in?" Stark wanted to know.

"Their atmospheric air strength is significantly less than ours," Fury replied. "We're thinking a focused air strike should give you the clear space you need to drop in."

"Is the aquarium intact?" Emily wanted to know.

The others stared at her strangely; then what she was actually asking sank in, and they turned expectantly to Fury. "I don't know," he admitted.

"How can you not know?" Steve demanded. He noticed that Emily's leg was shaking sporadically, and patted her reassuringly on the knee. She froze suddenly, her gaze distant, and winced. He wished he could help her, keep her out of her own head.

"Stark, we'd like you flying around in the suit to aid in this effort," Fury said. "You may suffer a little battering, but—"

"I'll be up there, too," Sam said firmly. "To back him up."

Without warning, a string of clicks and squeaks erupted from Emily's mouth. Fury ignored this, but Steve and Sam each placed a restraining hand on their friend's shoulder.

"Aquarium's good," Emily said calmly, confidently. "The invaders are trying to make friends with the inhabitants."

"How's that going for them?" Hawkeye wanted to know.

Emily smiled grimly. "Not well. The sharks are not pleased." Her teeth suddenly resembled that of the creatures she spoke of, then reverted to normal without warning.

_She may have had a point, _Tony thought ruefully. _It's a little late for that now, though. Hopefully we'll be able to get her back after it's all done. If Bruce could learn to control it, so can she. _

"We have one more minor issue to deal with before we set out on this mission," Fury said offhandedly. "Agent Clements should not go out into the world and do this work without some kind of identity protection."

"I vote for a paper bag over her head," Tony said immediately. Emily laughed, but the sound had a hysterical edge.

"You mean like a code name?" Natasha clarified.

Emily wrinkled her nose. "Do I have to wear a costume?"

"Ideally," Fury said. "Most of Dr. Xavier's students choose an alias for themselves during their training, but you never settled on one to my knowledge."

Emily hesitated. "Some of my…friends at the Institute had one picked out for me, but nothing was ever made official."

"What was it?" Clint wanted to know.

"Why didn't you like it?" Bruce asked simultaneously.

"What makes you think I didn't like it?"

"You don't use it," was Banner's reply.

"I don't use it out of respect for the dead," Emily said flatly.

"So what was it?" Clint pressed.

Emily glared at him. "I like you better when you're Nat's silent backup."

"Answer the question, Agent," Fury said loudly. Emily blanched. Steve's hand found hers under the table and squeezed in silent support.

"They called me the Tiger," she said. "And with all due respect, Director Fury—and believe me, that's a helluva lot of respect—I am not, nor will I ever be, an _Agent_ here."

"The Tiger," Tony said to the tense silence. "I like it."

"We'll get her a striped cat suit," Natasha said.

"Should it be 'Tigress'?" Bruce suggested.

"Not if you want to be misogynist," Emily said, almost conversationally.

"That was unkind," Tony leaped to his friend's defense.

"Sorry, Dr. Banner, childhood idol," Emily said. "I'm a little…on edge."

"I know the feeling," Bruce said. "My apologies. Tiger it is."

"Hooray," said Fury with no joy whatsoever. "Suit up, everyone. We depart in twenty minutes."

They all stood quickly and dispersed. Steve caught Emily by the elbow. "'Home of the Clemson Tigers'?" he asked her softly.

He was rewarded with a small smile. "You know me too well, Captain."

"C'mon, Em," Natasha said. "We'll go get you a suit."

Emily growled her upset—it sounded a dog with indigestion, and it probably was—and followed the other woman out of the room. "Where are we going?"

"Tailor," Natasha said.

"You're not serious. Does S.H.I.E.L.D. also front as a department store?"

"Yes," Natasha said seriously. They had arrived at the elevator. Nat hit the 'down' button and they stood patiently waiting. "How're you holding up?"

"Any nonhuman with self-awareness within a two hundred mile radius is making a real nuisance of itself in my head," Emily replied. "I'm peachy."

Nat chuckled; the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open like silk. They were the only two on the elevator. Nat hit the basement button, and they descended.

"I know this isn't the best time or place," Nat said abruptly, "but I've been meaning to ask you about Steve."

"What about Steve?" Emily gritted her teeth and growled at something Nat couldn't see.

"Fox?" she guessed.

"Nope. That was the hound. What about Steve?"

"Just, um. You know. How do you…like living next door to him?"

"It's fine. He and Sam are great."

"Just fine?"

"What are you getting at?" Emily asked as the elevator doors slid open. She was immediately distracted by the racks upon racks of clothing before them. "Jesus Christ."

"No, his name's Ted," Natasha said as the tailor approached. "Ted, this is Emily. She needs a suit for combat like mine or Hill's."

The tailor looked Emily up and down appraisingly. "We've probably got her size."

"It needs to be able to stretch quite a bit," Emily said.

"Everything we have stretches quite a bit," Ted replied, and disappeared into the racks.

"I hear you guys went clubbing last weekend," Natasha said.

"_Non sequitur_ much? Yeah, it was Sam's terrible idea. He owes us pizza."

"What was so terrible about it?"

"You know Steve," Emily said. "He's endearingly old-fashioned, for obvious reasons, and I don't think he was prepared for what he saw."

"What, horny gyrating singles dripping in sweat isn't his style?"

Emily chuckled. "Not quite, no."

"So you didn't get him to dance."

"We left, actually." A smile lurked at the corner of Emily's mouth. "Ended up on the National Mall. I talked to a bird."

"You talked to a bird?"

"He talked to me first," Emily said defensively.

"Jeez, you make it sound like he was trying to pick you up."

"No, he's not like that—oh, you meant the bird."

"Wasn't it obvious?" Natasha quickly pressed her advantage while Emily was flustered. "So you do like Steve."

"Not in so many words," Emily hedged.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I don't know! He's Captain America, and I'm—Dr. Doolittle's socially awkward daughter!"

"I'm glad that's not your code name. Too much of a mouthful. And I don't know exactly what you mean by that, but you're wrong about Steve."

"He's an incredibly attractive super-soldier hero who's charmingly noble and sweet. What about that is wrong? Why do you care, anyway?"

"Because I saw the way he looked at you your very first day here." Emily flushed a bright red; a pleasant warmth started somewhere in her midsection and spread through the rest of her body. "Anything could happen today, you know," Natasha said gently.

"I know," Emily said grimly as Ted reappeared with a bundle. "There you go. Suit, belt with some basic tools, boots."

"How do you know it'll fit me?"

"I'm very good at guessing sizes—plus, the fabric's specially designed to conform to your shape. You better get back up there. Fury's not pleased."

"Is he ever pleased?" Emily asked sourly as she and Natasha turned back to the elevator. "Guard the door, would you? I'll just change in here."

"Sure thing." Nat held her finger on the 'close door' button as Emily stripped and wriggled into her jumpsuit.

"Dammit, not again!"

"What's wrong?" Nat glanced over her shoulder; Emily was vigorously scratching at her torso.

"Damn snakes like to impose," she grumbled as snakeskin flaked onto the floor. "Yeah, I'm talking to y'all!" she snapped, apparently at the snakes whose feelings had been hurt.

"We're almost at our floor," Nat warned her.

"Fine. I'll deal with this later," Emily groused. She slid her arms into the sleeves and was in the process of zipping herself up when the door opened.

Steve turned bright red and immediately looked down. "You, um, going up?"

"We are indeed, Captain," Natasha said.

"Can't S.H.I.E.L.D. afford socks?" Emily grumbled as she struggled into her boots.

"Rooftop," Natasha warned her as the door slid open—and they were immediately buffeted by a stiff breeze.

"Let's go!" Fury bellowed. "We don't have all day!"

The trio jogged across the tarmac and ducked into the whirring helicopter. Agent Hill was piloting, and Dr. Banner sat in the backseat looking tense.

"Where's Clint?" Nat demanded.

"Other copter, with the Falcon," Hill said shortly.

"There's a bird joke in there somewhere," Bruce muttered.

"All set back there?" Hill asked them.

Emily meowed loudly and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"She means yes," Steve interjected, laughing at the expression on her face. Emily blushed and punched him gently on the arm.

The copter lifted into the air and started south, blades whirring madly.

"How long of a flight are we looking at?" Emily asked, looking tense.

"Three hours," Hill said.

"Perfect," Emily said, and settled back in her seat. "Gives me time to talk to the whales." She closed her eyes and appeared to fall asleep.

"Cat nap," Dr. Banner remarked seriously.

Natasha snorted. "So do we have a plan for once we're on the ground?"

"Unfortunately, we don't have a lot of information on what's actually happening in Atlanta," Hill said. "But Fury and I will be in contact with you at all times."

"That's a relief," Steve said drily.

"I think Emily's our secret weapon here," Bruce said. "If we can just get her close enough to the, ah, enemy, she can…figure out what they want, right? Or fight them better than we could?"

"That's the idea," Steve said grimly. "That's why everybody was so gosh-darn eager to recruit her for this crazy team."

"Watch your language, Cap," Natasha teased him. "Relax, okay? She'll be just fine."

Emily slid out of her seat onto the floor, twitching slightly. "Yes, this fills me with confidence," Steve said, scooping her up and cradling her against his chest.

"Sweet," Natasha remarked, nodding at the way Emily's head fit naturally under Steve's chin. "You two look good together."

"Stop it, Natasha," Steve said. "She's going through a lot."

"Aren't we all? Haven't we all?" Natasha snapped. "You're a good guy, Steve Rogers, but now is not the time to be a good guy. This is the time to let go of office crushes and do the damn job."

"Can't I do the 'damn job' without losing _more_ of my friends?"

"You tell me," Natasha said tightly.

"Everybody calm down," Bruce said. "Think about who just told you to calm down, and then really calm down."

They lapsed into tense silence.


	9. Of Whales and Wings

They'd been in the air for almost two hours. Emily was sleeping peacefully, which was a relief. Natasha had joined Hill in the cockpit, and Bruce was engrossed in his book. Steve craned his neck to catch the title: _Dune._ "Is that any good? It's not on my list."

"It's good if you like heavy-duty science fiction," Banner replied. "Yes, it's very good. Lots of environmentalist undertones and political intrigue."

"Ah," said Steve. "So should I add it to my list?"

"Depends on how much you like science fiction," Bruce said.

"Like Jules Verne?"

Bruce chuckled. "Yes, like Jules Verne. And H.G. Wells, and George Orwell."

"I'll put it on the list," Steve decided. "I haven't had much time for reading lately."

"I'll give you a list of good sci-fi, if you want," Bruce said. "It's a great genre, and it's really come far since you, ah, fell asleep."

A high-pitched moan echoed through the copter.

Natasha's head appeared from the cockpit. "What the hell is that?"

"I don't know," Banner said, clapping his hands over his ears. "Can someone make it stop? The other guy isn't a huge fan."

The moans lapsed into wailing and whistling, all blended together almost like a symphony. "What is that?" Steve demanded.

Natasha smirked. "Look down, Rogers."

Steve looked down at Emily, whom he still held cradled like a baby. Her mouth was very slightly open, her tongue moving behind her teeth. Another wail reverberated through the cabin.

"Whale songs," Steve said in awe. "She's singing whale songs."

"Is that what that is?" Bruce removed his hands from his ears. "Once you get used to it…"

"It's beautiful," Steve said softly.

"Should we wake her up?" Bruce asked.

"Not unless it's really bothering anyone." Steve looked to the cockpit for confirmation.

"The sonic vibrations she's emitting are interfering with our communications equipment," Hill said tersely. "Wake her up, Captain Rogers."

"Yes ma'am." He gently propped Emily upright, resting her back against his chest. Her head lolled against his shoulder; she was really out.

"Emily?" he whispered in her ear. No reply. "Emily," he said louder. A slight frown creased her face. "Wake up, Tiger."

Emily stirred slightly, and lifted her head. "How long was I out?" she asked groggily.

"Long enough to serenade us with whale songs," Steve replied.

_That_ woke her up; she sat stiffly upright. "I did what?"

"Relax," Bruce said. "It's not a big deal."

Emily didn't seem to realize that she was in Steve's lap, for she sagged back into him as if he were a comfy, well-muscled chair. "Shit, that's not good. How much whale song?"

"Not much," Steve assured her. His arm tightened around her waist. "It was beautiful," he murmured in her ear, pointedly ignoring Natasha's meaningful stares.

She flushed at his warm breath on her cheek. "Beautiful or not, it means I got lost in the pod for a while. That's not good, Steve."

"Well, you're back now," he said bracingly. "Feeling okay?"

"I feel fine." She made no move to vacate his lap, and even shifted slightly to make herself more comfortable. "Am I took heavy for you?"

Steve snorted. "Hardly."

"Good," she murmured, tucking her head under his chin.

"Any particular reason you were talking to the whales?" Bruce wanted to know.

"They lead such peaceful lives," Emily said. "It's like meditation, unless somebody I'm talking to gets caught by the whale hunters." She pursed her lips angrily.

"That's still a thing?" Steve asked, shocked. "I thought the whales were…"

"They're going to be on the verge of extinction _very_ soon if we don't do something," Emily said sadly. "I wish I knew what I could do."

"Sing for people," Steve suggested.

She laughed, and looked at him askance. "Oh my God, you're serious."

"Why not?" Steve asked, warming up to his own idea. "Give benefit concerts for the animals. I'd pay to see a pretty girl perform flawless bird songs."

Emily frowned slightly, pushing the 'pretty' remark to the back of her mind for the moment. "It's not a terrible idea."

"It's not," Bruce agreed. "I'm sure Tony could get you a cool venue."

"He could," Emily said musingly. "I'll have to think about—"

The copter lurched violently. "The enemy have opened fire on us," Hill said calmly.

Emily tumbled off Steve's lap and helped Bruce pry the door open. Air rushed in, buffeting them all roughly.

"Why are you taking off your shoes?" Steve yelled over the wind.

"Traction," she yelled back, and found a friendly gecko in a pet store on the ground. Her feet were glued to the floor of the copter, and she grabbed Steve firmly as he stumbled around. "Don't fall out," she shouted.

"I'm trying," he replied.

"Can you get a visual on Stark or Wilson?" Hill demanded.

Emily blinked, and sharp hawk eyes peered into the clouds. "I see hostile airships attacking S.H.I.E.L.D. copters. I see—there they are!"

"What's happening? Tiger, report!" Hill snapped.

"Stark has fired on the enemy—Falcon dodges bullets—I have to get out there."

"What?" Steve grabbed her arm as she tried to move away from him. "You can't fly!"

She smirked at him. "Can't I?" Without another word, she launched herself out the door.

"Emily!" Steve screamed to the wind. He and Banner crowded the door, peering anxiously into the mess. Gunfire peppered the air, along with inhuman shrieks.

"What the hell was she thinking?" Steve snapped. He groped for a parachute. "I have to—"

Natasha's hand closed over his. "No, you don't. She knows what she's doing."

"How do you know that?"

Nat simply pointed. Bruce and Steve looked; Bruce's jaw dropped. Steve froze. _This can't be real—I'm fighting an alien army for the second time in a year, but this…_

_Meanwhile, in the air: _

Emily recalled her Vertebrate Biology class. "The structure of a bat's wing is almost identical to that of the human hand," she whispered as she plummeted, wind tearing at her face. "The same basic bone structure, just…" She winced as she delved into the colony's collective psyche and found what she needed. "The same basic bone structure, just…stretched."

A scream of pain was torn involuntarily from her mouth. It awoke the colony, which was unfortunate. _Back to sleep, little brothers. Night will fall soon._ She spread her fingers painfully, feeling the skin stretch between the too-long bones. She gritted her teeth and bore the pain, and the wind bore her upwards like a kite.

_Too bad about the suit,_ she thought without much regret. As on a bat, large flaps of skin connected her arms to her torso. _God, I bet I look grotesque._

She soared past the copter she'd vacated moments ago, but she didn't quite dare look inside. Steve's reaction would push her over the edge, she was sure.

Then she forgot all that in the pure joy of flight. Iron Man and the Falcon needed her; she flapped in their direction, effortlessly avoiding approaching bullets with the bat's echolocation. Normally reserved for night, but bullets were hard to see.

Curious minds brushed against hers. They were awed and confused. Was this the same species as the ones below? It looked and behaved much differently.

_Tony was right,_ Emily thought. _I can hear them! But can they hear me?_

It seemed not, for their deliberating carried on uninterrupted. Perhaps she was an avian subspecies, though on this planet evolving from an ape did not lead to flight…

"Tiger!"

Tony's voice in her ear jerked her back to her own body, away from their beautiful hive-mind. "Tiger, what are you doing?"

"I'm providing backup," she retorted through gritted teeth. "We need to clear this air space so the rest of the team can drop relatively safely. Where are you?"

"Right above you."

Emily flipped over easily and looked up. Iron Man was indeed directly above her. She grinned at him, and might have waved if her hands had still resembled hands.

"All right, Tiger. I think if we take out that last….spaceship thing—the one that looks like a giant bug?—we should be clear for landing. Do whatever you need to."

"Yes, sir," Emily said mockingly, and angled her flight downward. She wished she had raptor wings, which were much better for diving, but feathers took time she didn't have. She envied the Falcon his maneuverability.

The enemy opened fire, and a stinging pain went through her right wing. Tilting her head, she looked straight through a nickel-sized hole that trailed blood through the sky.

She gritted her teeth. "Shit." Folding her wings, she tumble-landed atop the targeted ship, rolling to take off the impact of her fall. She staggered to her feet and found the gecko again, clinging to the slick metal with sticky pads.

The invaders were confused. The avian was no longer avian. She must be a different species entirely; some sort of shape-shifter.

_Damn straight,_ Emily thought grimly. Opening her mouth, she sent bat squeaks through the hull of the ship, seeking a weak point. There was a turbine just under the surface a few yards to her left. She skittered across the surface, running through the creatures in her mind. The inhabitants of Zoo Atlanta were still alive, thank God.

The weight of an elephant's foot proved inadequate to break through the hull. Emily frowned.

"Stark, I need backup here. This material is too strong for me to break through."

"Stand back, Tiger."

Emily darted away as a blast rocked the ship, which immediately spiraled out of control. She reached for the bats again, but the wound in her side proved too painful for wings made of her own flesh. She staggered, slipped off the edge, and plummeted to earth.


End file.
